Applying his ear to the keyhole, Jack listened, but could detect no sound. "How so?" asked Wild, curiously. Amidship there was also canvas, and like that over the wheel, drab and dirty. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. The wheel and the navigating instruments were sternward, under a spread of heavy canvas, a protection against rain and sun.
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